


Hot Mess

by bassetbabe



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Overwatch, Drag Queens, Eventual Smut, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Jesse is graceful in wearing heels, Jesse is trying to make it big, M/M, Swearing, i love McHanzo, this may have spawned from a fever dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 06:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11098599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bassetbabe/pseuds/bassetbabe
Summary: Jesse McCree, an up and coming drag queen, has the biggest gig of his life tonight. And he is nothing short of a hot mess.





	1. Chapter 1

_ Heels? Check. Wig? Check. Makeup? Check. A dress? …Fuck. _

Jesse’s knuckles turned white against the black metal of the stray, abandoned cart, his eyes widening with the realization that he forgot the star of the night: his outfit.  _ Shit. Shit. Shit!  _ He didn’t have the time nor the money to order one online.  _ Fuck me! There best be something left in my closet. _

He pushed the last cart into the rack, ducking under the half door to get back inside the store. Jesse pulled up his key ring, his hands shaking.  _ Which of ‘em is it? I ain’t got time for this shit.  _ One of the keys finally slid in and Jesse locked the door. 

The punch clock read 10:02:36 PM.  _ 1 hour 56 minutes left till. Wait? 56 or 58 minutes? I ain’t a fucking scientician.   _

The gig he had scheduled that night was one Jesse had waited for his entire drag career (uh, his side job? his hobby?). A big venue, shots and weed, and a chance to meet and work with his all-time favorite female impersonator, Hana Bow. He didn’t want to – no, he couldn’t – fuck it up. This could bring his career from one-off gigs to a serious thing. No more pushing carts and stocking shelves at the grocery store.

Checking the doors one last time, Jesse rushed through the store.  _ Yep. Looks right to me. Yep.  _ He found the last door, slipped out, locked it, and sprinted to his motorcycle. His flip phone read 10:09 PM. 

The motorcycle roared to life.  _ Atta baby! _ Jesse popped the kickstand and propelled forward, blowing every stop sign in his path. He really, truly did not have time for that.

* * *

 

The clock read 11:23 PM. 7 minutes until the bus came. He couldn’t take his bike or he’d risk ruining his wig. And Jesse still had to put on his dress. But which? He already had a beautiful smokey eye, complimented by a maroon lipstick, and a curly brown wig. 

On one hand, the red dress accentuated his backside curves, but the tiny, tight black dress worked well with his makeup and added a sexual undertone to his look.  _ Why do I have to be so good looking? If I were a guy on the street and I saw myself, I’d have a boner for sure. _

Trying the red dress on again, Jesse noticed a big grease stain on the side.  _ Uh, well, I guess that rules this one out. Maybe I shouldn’t eat In-n-Out after my gigs. Live ‘n learn! _

Jesse shimmied into the black dress, taking one last look at his hard work.  _ Ah, well, one selfie couldn’t hurt, could it?  _ He had to grab the perfect angle.

He snapped the picture and checked the time: 11:31 PM.  _ Oh shit.  _ Grabbing his keys and clutch, Jesse bolted out his apartment door in six inch heels.  _ Fuck! Jesse, you’re so fucking stupid. Fuck! Shit! Shit! Fuck!  _

He could see it, pulling away. The bus was leaving without him. 

There was no turning back now.

Like a newborn giraffe, Jesse sprinted, waving his arms frantically at the bus driver. “Hey! Stop the bus! Stop it, goddamnit!” he barked. He had no fucking idea how he had run this far, this fast in these heels, but God fucking damn if he were to not catch that bus now.

Surely enough, the bus slowed down to let him on. Jesse wheezed as he climbed on, dropping coins into the farebox. He quickly found a seat, his 6’1” male frame dressed in female clothing causing the elderly woman two rows behind him to look at him in disdain. But he didn’t give a shit. He fucking made it. 

_11:32 PM._ _ 28 minutes left. _


	2. Chapter 2

Growing up in the south was like the tangled hammock between two oak trees in Jesse’s childhood home, twisted and wound up, pulled tight between two conflicting entities. From a young age, Jesse had a keen interest in women’s fashion and crossdressing, but his southern pride rooted in ideas of masculinity prevented him from fully exploring femininity. The daydreams of red lipstick, pantyhose, and long hair seemed distant like the stars in the night sky he’d gaze at when he managed to wrap himself in the mangled hammock.

Jesse remembered often the day of when he came out to his parents. The heat of the New Mexican sun warmed his face, but his ears were cold. He felt the cold twinge of their words, accepting but not understanding or embracing his sexuality. He was like the runt of the ranch’s new litter of pigs, not outright rejected, but ignored.

 

* * *

 

_11:56. 4 minutes left._

Jesse polished off a shot of whiskey backstage, his finger twirling around the lip of the glass. _Where is she?_ The fingers on his other hand drummed on the table, and he glanced around.

“Jessica Gunslinger, you are looking beautiful tonight!” chirped a voice from behind him. “I’m Pete Kolher, owner of The Snake Hole Lounge. I'm the one who booked you tonight. Put one there,” a short and stout man held out his hand. Jesse reciprocated and smiled.

“Thanks for the gig. Now Pete, I heard that Hana Bow was going to be here tonight?” Jesse glanced around the room again, “Where is she?”

Pete chuckled. Leaning in closer, he exposed a raw nerve, “Oh, darlin’. She’s not just gonna be here tonight - She’s your co-host.”

Jesse just about shit himself. “My co-host?”

Pete grinned, “Yep! Oh, look, here she is.”

Whipping around, Jesse knocked over his whiskey glass, and it shattered all over the floor. “Shit! Uh, um, I meant fuck, uh oops,” he sputtered, laughing and flashing an awkward smile as his face turned as red as a traffic light. _Oh my god, it’s her! Holy motherfucking shit, it's her!_

He bent down and quickly began picking up the pieces, scooping up the shards into a tiny pile in the palm of his hand. Popping back up, he quickly apologized, “Heh, sorry for being so clumsy.” Hana Bow glared daggers back.

“Make sure you're not so clumsy on stage, Jessica,” Hana snipped, stomping away and disappearing into the bathroom.

_11:59 PM. 1 minute left._

 

* * *

 

It was less than two months after coming out that Jesse decided to move to California. 

At first, it was his parents who treated him differently. Jesse would walk into the room, and suddenly, all noise would cease and all eyes were on him. A tense air would hang over the dinner table, similar to when Jesse's grandmother passed. He was a walking dead man. His parents mourned the loss who their son could've - or should've, in their eyes - been. A reminder that Jesse was broken because he was not straight.

Soon after, it was the farmhands. He'd try to join in the joking after milking the cows just to be ignored, as if he were just the wind whipping in and out of the conversation. He was no one to them now, when just weeks earlier he was the center of the conversation, loud and charismatic, howling with laughter.

Early one morning, Jesse and one of the farmhands, Joel, fed the chickens in dead silence. Quietly, Joel spoke up, "Jesse, I like you 'n all, but... I can't talk to you. I don't want the other guys to think I'm gay, too." He turned away, hiding his face. "I'm sorry, buddy."

Jesse swallowed hard, and briskly walked out of the coop, blinking back tears.

 

* * *

 

The night was in full swing, Jessica Gunslinger and Hana Bow tipsy and positively killing it. The audience erupted in cheer after every song and every dance, laughing and astounded at the duo.

Jesse couldn't tell if Hana was in a better mood or if she was just acting. Both probably, but Jesse was surprised by her attitude earlier. _Maybe that's how she prepares for the show, who knows._

Hana Bow’s looks though - they were something else. Aside from her incredible acting talent, she was known for her beauty, and boy, was she. She was unquestionably gorgeous. She was Japanese, and she had long, flowing black natural hair. He had noticed purple bruises painting her arms, a stark contrast against her natural beauty. Tonight, it was done up in curls, coincidentally matching Jesse’s.

The last number of the night was _Pretty Woman_. Giving it their all for a great finale, Hana and Jesse danced their asses off. They worked in stunning harmony, especially given that they had never practiced before. When Jesse stepped back, Hana would lean in. They hit every beat in unison.

With a final bow, the show was over. Hana grabbed Jesse’s hand and announced, “Thank you all! I'm Hana Bow and this is Jessica Gunslinger! We’ll see you around!” Clapping erupted, and Hana quickly pulled Jesse backstage.

Behind the stage, Pete as waiting. He grinned from ear to ear, “Girls, that was amazing! You were a hit! What do you say? Come back next weekend and perform as a duo.”

Jesse was taken aback - a chance at a solid work schedule as a drag queen. But his dreams were quickly shattered, Hana’s stoic and deep voice cutting the air, “We’ll think about it.”

Marching past Pete, Hana dragged me out into the back alley. “Call me Hanzo,” he said, putting his hand out. “Sorry for being rude earlier, part of my diva persona. You were good out there.” Hanzo pulled his long curls up into a ponytail and smiled, “Wanna grab a drink? It's only 2.”

“Yeah, I'd like that. By the way, call me Jesse.”


End file.
